Skilled Hands
by Salome Sensei
Summary: Ono and Eiji share an unwanted crush on one another, and neither knows the other's secret. See first chapter for additional info. ON HIATUS.


Summary: Ono and Eiji share an unwanted crush on one another, and neither knows the other's secret. Written in 100-word bites with alternating perspective, inspired by the challenges at LJ community **Fandomwords100**. I'll put them up in clusters here as "chapters."

Author's Note: I'm a definite Ono/Chikage shipper with Ono/Tachibana as a secondary morbid-licious fascination. But why not try another flavor? _Bon apetit!_

Skilled Hands

I - Eiji

He'd always been good with his hands, landing punches with such grace he had all the girls swooning. Baking was different, but he was determined to conquer it, too. He watched Ono-sensei fold and press the butter pastry, heel of his palms leading, over and over. Beautiful, skilled hands. Gentle but not unlike the steady, even work on a punching bag. Kanda stood beside his teacher, attempting to match his skill and pace, breaking an unexpected sweat. "You can't learn it all in a day, Kanda-kun," Ono said with a smile. Oh but he longed to. "Yes, sensei," he replied.

II – Ono

Ono knew talent when he saw it, in more ways than Tachibana ever wanted to know. But in Kanda, there was something new. Eagerness, certainly. Promise as a pâtissier, definitely. What's new was that Kanda was not Ono's type but still compelled his attention to a distracting degree. He had to control himself. He was the sensei, the older brother type. That's all. Damn, it was just this sort of complication that could ruin Antique, and he would not let that happen. No matter what. He watched Kanda lick custard off his thumb and bit back a moan. Just the sensei, no matter what.

III – Eiji

Eiji was grateful for the room above Antique. Not only because he had nowhere else, but because it let him work late and begin early. His alarm ringing was now linked with his love of making pastry and pleasing Ono-sensei. Just the thought of those remarkably skilled hands got him out of bed in the morning and kept him in the kitchen long after hours. Some days, he'd even close up and then sneak back downstairs to try whipping those egg whites to perfect peaks, just once more. _You'll be proud, sensei,_ he'd whisper, whisking until his arm was sore.

IV – Ono

Kneading the dough for the day's pie crusts, Ono smiled. Antique was undoubtedly a change for the better in his life. Pleasure his work was decidedly novel. And between Tachibana's rejection and Chikage's innocence, he felt at least temporarily safe from spoiling this fragile, newfound satisfaction. Reaching for a rolling pin, his hand met Kanda's. Both men looked up, dropped the pin clattering to the floor, and Ono saw reflected in the ex-boxer's face the blush he knew was creeping across his own. This was absurd. Was he determined to curse himself, even when they so obviously weren't a match?

V – Eiji

In years of boxing, the young ex-champion had never experienced the jitters. No butterflies before a bout, no shakes with even the fiercest competitors. So why the hell were his hands trembling visibly as he held out the slice of pound cake with orange zest for Ono-sensei to taste? The quivering stopped in an instant, however, as Ono's fingers made contact with his own beneath the plate. He swallowed hard, found he couldn't speak. Ono-sensei's good opinion meant everything to him, in ways both easy to explain and not. "Don't worry," Ono chuckled, "I'm sure it's delicious." Kanda blushed hotly.

VI – Ono

The touch of their fingers beneath the china plate was enough to release a stream of self-accusation in Ono. _He's just a kid. He's not my type. He's not gay. Tachibana will kill me. Chikage will cry. Get control over yourself, Yusuke. This cannot be happening. This will not be happening. Just taste the damned cake. _He smiled casually, a teacher appreciating his pupil's eagerness and growth. He took up fork and sampled the confection. Firm, not too sweet, perfect citrus note. Oh Kanda. "Delicious," he proclaimed, ruffling that mop of hair, trying not to mean anything but the cake.


End file.
